


It's Not The Same Without You

by theundeadsiren (rhoen)



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 22:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4196487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhoen/pseuds/theundeadsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend of Rick's visits his grave after learning where he has been laid to finally rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not The Same Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Well I feel fucking awful thinking about Rick. Not really been able to write lately, but this kinda struck me, so here it is in all its short suckiness.
> 
> Not that anyone will remember the character from the other two fics he's in briefly, but this is Adam Wilkes, Rick's friend from as far back as basic training. Doesn't matter really - he's just someone who, like a lot of people, will have known Rick and have missed him terribly when he was killed.

**You may not take this fic and edit or reupload it - in whole or in part - without my express permission. This includes translations.**

If you are reading this anywhere other than my (theundeadsiren) tumblr, AO3 or livejournal, then please [let me know](http://theundeadsiren.tumblr.com/ask/), including a link to where you found it, so I can take steps to have it removed. For a list of people given permission to use parts of my works, please see [here](http://theundeadsiren.tumblr.com/permission).

Thank you for respecting my wishes

* * *

 

The young man stood at the entrance to the graveyard, taking in the neat rows of crosses that filled the well-kept area of grass beneath the turning trees, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but this seemed… fitting. Like a military cemetery. He’d expected some middle-of-nowhere parish graveyard filled with haphazard headstones that dated back centuries, the crooked teeth so much a part of the setting that you forgot about the bones beneath your feet. It was impossible to forget what this place was. The white crosses were so stark, contrasting almost brightly against the late autumn backdrop, and were evocative of the war graves synonymous with great courage and sacrifice.

Walking slowly amongst them, the hand holding the flowers he’d brought lowering, the man took in the names and the state of each grave, slowly working his way towards the furthest row. Several metres from it, he zeroed in on the two freshest graves, and something cold and hard hit him in the gut, his breath leaving him. Of all the things he’s endured, he wasn’t sure why this was the one thing getting to him like this. He knew why he’d come here. He knew what he’d find. But to actually see it…

Walking closer, eyes stinging with tears as he saw the portrait of his friend smiling up at him, the young man found enough strength to step closer, laying the bright bouquet against the dull, leaf-littered ground. As he straightened, stiffening more than he need to, he brought his hand up in salute, finding the practiced motion difficult. He held it perfectly, but as his hand lowered, he deflated.

“Fuck, Rick,” he breathed, standing there and swaying slightly as glanced at the grave to the right. “Fuck.”

He was no stranger to military services, memorials – or even funerals – but there was something overwhelmingly sad in how understated this was. It felt so lonely. He’d carried this loss for the last four years, but to be faced with it like this… pain blossomed in his chest, and the prayers and psalms he knew so well wouldn’t stick in his mind, slipping away as he stared at the face of his once closest friend.

 _‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me…_ ’

‘… _Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life. Because I carry a big stick and I'm the meanest motherfucker in the valley!_ ’

He let out a choked sob, somewhere between laughter and anguish as Rick’s own version of the psalm came to him. He could still see him as he said it – grinning widely beneath his gear, face smeared with camo paint and dirt, hazel eyes so bright with life and laughter. It was hard not to smile at the memory, but it also tore at him, throwing his loss into sharp relief and dragging those terrible days back with bitter clarity. Stepping forward and letting his hand come to rest on the cross, the young man crouched down, blinking back tears again as he felt the texture of the cross, fingers tracing around the edge of the plaque as he settled onto the damp grass. Someone had left a single flower with soft off-white petals, and the young man’s fingers gently brushed over them as he stared at the photograph – the brilliant moment of time frozen forever. The smiling face of his friend would never age. Rick would stay like that: forever frozen, forever young; his hopes and dreams never realised, all those roads left untravelled. All that was left was an understated grave, a name on a memorial somewhere, and the memories of those who had known him. There weren’t words for how overwhelmingly sad that was.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but eventually the young man found his tongue, the words heavy and tearing at his heart as he spoke them.

“Miss you, mate.”

He tried to shake away the fresh tears that stung at his eyes.

“’S not the same without you. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about you. When I heard…”

Words failed him. What had happened was something out of a Shakespearean tragedy, or a dystopian novel. It shouldn’t have happened, but had all the same. The earth next to where he sat was trying to blanket itself with grass, but the fading season slowed the process. The young man was speechless again, trying to sort through thoughts and emotions he’d thought he’d already come to terms with. The whole world seemed stagnant. The only life was in Rick’s smile looking out from the photograph, and in the vibrant flowers on the graves and the gentle breeze brushing through the almost bare branches, rustling the fallen leaves piled against the stone wall.

The closest thing to this, the young man thought, was those times they’d spent on watch together. Only Rick was never going to reply to anything he said. He could speak for hours about anything that came to mind, but Rick would stay forever silent. No more laughter. No jokes. No more stories. He would never hear Rick’s voice again. That birthday in the desert had been Rick’s last – they would never hang out again, never have each other’s back in a firefight, never be able to one-up each other with increasingly ridiculous practical jokes and dares. They would never meet each other’s families, spend that summer hiking as they’d talked about so often, never meet the childhood friends that had given them both so many stories to share and cling to when home seemed so, so far away. They would never do anything together again.

All that was left was this – a young man sitting silently beside the grave of the friend he truly counted as a brother, waiting for the world to somehow make sense again but knowing it never would.

**Author's Note:**

> Well I was going to write a bit where Kieren meets him, but perhaps this is fine as it is. I wish I was able to tear people's hearts apart (like my own has been by this show oh god ouch it hurts).


End file.
